Dark Half
by Sukuru
Summary: Something bad is happening to John - alone for so long on TB5, could it just be ordinary psychosis, or is there something else going on...? Ch4 uploaded!
1. Time Loss

::Dark Half::

A/N: This is rated a PG - but there are some references to suicide and other...psychotic things later on. If any of these things bother you, I reccomend against you reading this.

On a lighter note: Enjoy! Flames and criticisms are welcome in reviews. Start with my spelling . there's always alot to criticise there .  
  
1. Time Loss  
  
Tap. Tap. Tap.  
  
Pause.  
  
Tap. Tap.  
  
Pause.  
  
Tap.  
  
Silence.  
  
John sighed heavily. Most of his life seemed to revolve around silence - and the listening that could be done through it. He often suspected the reason his father disliked the idea of having two people on Thunderbird Five instead of the customary one was because it wouldn't be as mind- wrenchingly silent, and distress calls msy be missed.  
  
He stared over at the small wall clock he had been permitted as a decoration. Televisions and vidio game consoles were out of the question; too distracting. Infact, it had taken three months of pleading and pathetic whining (of which he was still ashamed) to get a telescope. That and bookshelves, and a small globe, and a small potplant. This was pretty much his world for months at a time; the island's lush, deep vegitation always surprised him in colour and texture after all he would see for days was gun metal grey metal with occasional splashes of orange.  
  
Back to the clock.  
  
Thunderbird 3 was late. More than half an hour late, and this usually meant that they weren't coming. On time or not coming at all. He glanced down sadly at the small travel bag beside the bed. Hello old friend. Looks like we're going to be spending even more time together, eh?  
  
He rocked sideways, snuggling down into the rough sheets (rough...I'm fed up of sleeping in rough sheets...) and closed his intense blue eyes, frowning slightly.  
  
Quarter of an hour later, no call and no Thunderbird 3. He huffed gently, then sat up again and rubbed his eyes, making the whites red. His blonde hair had tangled slightly at the back, and he looked like he had been sleeping for days. He sniffed, balanced himself a second, then stood and walked over to the radio transmitter and called home.  
  
"_Yes, son?_" Jeff was seated behind his desk; he didn't look up. John felt slightly disheartned.  
  
"Is there something wrong?" He tried the subtle tone, trying not to let his eyes settle on any one object in his Earth-bound home. Even so, his heart began to ache at the little things; the light, for example, was a little less harsh, the atmosphere nicer, the decorations more normal. He was glad none of his brothers were in the room - it would have tipped his feelings over the edge.  
  
"_Of course not. Why?_" His father's tone was even, unfeeling. John gulped inwardly. He was in one of those moods.  
  
"Well - er - Thunderbird 3's a little late."  
  
Jeff looked up. His expression was quizzical. "_I'm sorry?_"  
  
"Alan and Scott are late relieving me." John said bluntly. His father frowned.  
  
"_John - son - they're not due to pick you up for another two weeks._" He spoke gently, slowly.  
  
John looked over at his calender. "No, no, it's today." He murmured, but he was suddenly unsure. Doubtful, he looked back at his father. "Isn't it?"  
  
"_No...it's noted down here in my desk diary for two weeks today_." Jeff atudied his son carefully. "Are you alright?"  
  
"Yes...I guess I...I must have heard wrong...I..." John tailed off. "Sorry for bothering you, father."  
  
"_No, no, don't ring off, son. Did you honestly think it was today, eh_?"  
  
"I could've sworn...oh, it doesn't matter..."  
  
"_Do you want to come home? I can get Alan if you want_."  
  
"No! No, it's okay. I'm okay. Er - I'll go now, if that's okay."  
  
"_Alright...but if you want to come home, you can...you know that, don't you_?"  
  
John smiled - but Jeff saw the lie behind it. "Of course."  
  
The video link rung off. Jeff stared at his son's portait for a minute, then called trough to Gordon's room.  
  
"_Yea dad_?"  
  
"Come to the lounge a second would you?"  
  
"_Something up_?"  
  
"Isn't it always?"  
  
"_Dad_?"  
  
"Get up here. Now."


	2. Edge of Reality

2. Edge of Reality

The wall clock lay smashed on the floor, the shards of glass that had once been it's screen broken into even smaller pieces by human hands. Beside it, trailing from the second hand (which was just underneath the bedside cabinet) to the bathroom door were little showers of dark red blood.  
  
John bit his lower lip, the rich salty tears on his cheeks shining against the bathroom lights. He knelt on the floor, wrapping a strip of gauze around the seven long, deep, deliberate cuts on the underside of his arm, stiffling a small sob as he tied off the makeshift bandage. A few months ago, he had promised himself 'never again'. Never. He had even asked Gordon to take home all of the knives in the kitchenette drawer, and the razors in the bathroom. He had never seen his little brother look so scared, or...what was the other feeling he'd detected...? Oh yea - disgusted. John buried his face in his hands, not wanting to think about his brother - it bought back too many memories of Earth, of what life was like before stupid International Res-  
  
He paused in his thoughts. _What am I thinking? IR isn't supid...why...why..._  
  
He gripped the edge of the bathtub as he felt a wave of nausia sweep over him, and he was forced to lie back on the floor for a few seconds. The hate he'd felt seething through his veins a few seconds before both shocked and elated him - shock because he had never felt thus before, and elation because it showed he had feelings other that empathy. He smiled at nothing in particular.  
  
"_Sumimasen! Sumimasen! Um... International Rescue? Watakushi no namae wa Chiro-san desu...oyobi_..."  
  
He sat up again as the distress transmitter began to spout random Japanese at him. The girl sounded vety scared indeed. He stared through the bathroom wall at it for a few moments, then stood up shakily and teetered over to it.  
  
"Hai, International Rescue. Nan desho ka." I hope I said the right thing...my Japanese is rusty.  
  
_They should speak English._ Another voice in his head spat back. He tried to ignore it, but it continued. _She's porbably just lost her cat. Leave her alone_.  
  
"_Hai! Hai! Tasukete_!"  
  
"Chotto o-machi kudasai." He forced himself to reply, stunned at the rogue thoughts. He requested the locating program find where the girl was transmiting from. "Watakushi wa igirisujin desu..."  
  
"_I speak little Igirisujin! Help me please_!"  
  
"What's wrong?"  
  
"_My father and six of his male people are trapped in well shaft at edge of... of...moutains! Please help them_!"  
  
"Calm down."  
  
"_Noni_?"  
  
"Um...ssh. We'll help." The tracking system locked in on the location. He smiled. "Sure we'll help."  
  
"_Arigato! Arigato gonsaimasu_!"Jeff sat and stared into space, the news Scott had just informed him of still echoing in his mind. _There was no collapsed mine shaft, no girl waiting there. There wasn't even a well shaft, Dad.  
_  
John lied. He'd actually _lied_. Or worse, he'd imagined the call. After so long without anything...his mind fabricated it, like a mad man's mind visages an oasis in the middle of the Sahara.  
  
"_Dad_?" Scott asked quietly from Thunderbird one. He looked at his eldest, took in the concern, the un- natural unsureness.  
  
"You're sure."  
  
"_Yes_."  
  
"Have you told John?"  
  
"_No...no, I thought it was best to tell you first.._."  
  
"Oh God..."  
  
"_Dad_?"  
  
"N-nothing. Alright, um...c-come home, Scott, come home. And Virgil."  
  
"_Should we get Thunderbird Three ready for action_?"  
  
"No. No, I'm going to put a call through to an old friend of mine. I think...she'd be a bigger help..."  
  
"_Lady Penelope? How_?"  
  
"Not Lady Penelope, no."  
  
"_Who_?"  
  
"You'll know her. Come home, get in the shower, do whatever, but be ready when she comes. You know what she was like the last time you surprised her in your bathrobe."  
  
"_No way! How can she help? Dad, you can't let her anywhere near_ -" 


	3. Jennifer

3. Jennifer

John studied his tired reflection in the mirror, his black-bag rimmed blue eyes looking up and down hypocritically. He looked a mess. True, it had been officially confirmed by a quiet call from his father a few moments earlier that he was a mess, a nutcase, a liar, however you chose to perceive it. No wellshaft, no Japanese girl, imagination running riot, psychiatrist on her way to see you.  
  
Anger bubbled beneath his pale skin. _Psychiatrist._ The word eachoed nastily through his blonde head. _I think you need to speak to Jennifer, John. She can help_.  
  
Yes, Jennifer Pulles probably could help, in a very big way. She could go and kill herself for a start. Hang herself, get hit by a bus, whatever. He smiled weakly at himself. Maybe he was cracking up - he had never really wished death upon anyone before... well, not recently anyway.  
  
He scratched his fingernails down the side of the sink, relishing the loud schreeching noise they produced. Any noise was good really. One of his nails snapped and he faultered. What was he doing? And why? He pulled his hand away sharply, held it to himself. The slashes on his arm had started to throb longingly again, and he closed his eyes, trying to block the little voice in his head that was telling him there were a little pair of scissors in the sewing box Grandma had given him for Chrismas last year ("What happens if you're alone in space and something needs mending?")  
  
_I need mending_. He thought glumly, avoiding his reflection. _And a sewing basket can't fix my hole, so fathers bringing me a psychiatrist.  
_  
The anger subsided and was replaced with a morbid dread. So long alone.... how would he react to another human being? Especially a female one? He blushed crimson and stared at the floor. Easy. He couldn't deal with her. She'd understand, she was a psychiatrist after all.  
  
He punched the wall in frustration. There was no anger in the movement, just boredom and tiredness. He'd gone days and nights without sleep, or contact, or anything normal - one day, he had spent the morning staring at a blank wall and the afternoon tapping a pen against the computer panel.  
  
"_This is Thunderbird three to Thunderbird five. Request permission to dock_." Scott's voice seemed faint and far away. John struck the wall again, and again, his teeth clenched tightly shut to stop the sounds his throat was trying to make. He didn't know how long he went on for. "_John! John! John, are you there_?" His brother's voice became even more urgent. He stopped, leant on his streaked red wet fists, breathing hard and glaring at the floor.  
  
"_John_?"  
  
"What?" He screamed at the open frequency transmitter. "What the Hell do you want?"  
  
There was a gentle murmuring, then, "_John? What's up_?"  
  
"Leave me alone! Why can't you leave me alone?" He sobbed, sinking down the wall and balling on the floor. "Please just leave me alone! You were going to all along, so just start it now!" John was aware it was not actually him speaking these words...it was someone or something else, something dark and cold and scary...  
  
"_Let me speak to him_." Said another voice, a quieter nicer one. "_John, this is Jennifer Pulles. Can you hear me_?"  
  
John screamed back a fiery expletive, then hid his head against the wall and started to howl, not exactly knowing why.  
  
"_Listen to me, sweetheart. Calm down and listen to me. I know how you're feeling - believe me, I do. You're feeling trapped, alone, abadoned. I know you are. Open the boarding ramps and I can make it all go away. Please let me help you_."  
  
"No!" He shouted back, grizzling against the now-warm metal. "No, go away! I'm fine alone! I like being alone...I..."

Suddenly, whoever had a hold of his vocal cords let go, and he quickly smacked his hand on the 'dock button' before he could change his mind.

Everything weny black.


	4. Past Mistakes

Reviewer Response:

Becca T: Thanks! I have – sorry it's taken so long to update, but Iceland doesn't have too many computers!

ArtisticRainey: Yes, I'm really sorry about the spelling! I wrote the first three chapters on my PDA at like midnight, then I just slammed them on the PC without checking them, so there are a lot of mistakes!

_Yveybevy_: A lot of people complained about the rating, so it's been changed! The whole history of John's self-harm comes later...possibly when I'm listening to Evanescence.

Cherry B: I know! I hate it when people write fics and leave questions unawnswered! ï 


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